


im a white teenager and this is a disaster

by 5_0_5 (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A lot of sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bottom Dean Winchester, Brother/Brother Incest, Canon Compliant, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, I Don't Even Know, Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions Of M/F Sex, Oral Sex, POV Sam Winchester, Rimming, Sam Winchester Angst, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest, The Author Regrets Everything, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Top Sam Winchester, and drinking, but more sex, i shouldve never wrote this, im so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:13:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23372974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/5_0_5
Summary: Sam knows that Dean doesn't think the way he does, in more ways than just his self-pity, depressive bullshit. Because for as long as Sam can remember, he's always looked at his brother as more than just a brother./read the tags
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53





	im a white teenager and this is a disaster

**Author's Note:**

> im so so so so so sorry  
> i wrote this a sleep deprived haze at like 6am and its a clusterfuck

Sam doesn't think they way Dean does, he knows he doesn't. Because there are days, every year, where Dean is subdued and solemn and his eyes don't shine the way they usually do. And Sam doesn't remember why those days are like that. He doesn't remember the day he left for college, doesn't remember his exact words as he screamed his throat raw at John. 

But Sam knows that Dean doesn't think the way he does either. It takes a while, over a year to not wake up from nightmares of an endless Tuesday, of his brother's body bloody and broken and  _ dead _ . Every time Dean died, Sam always did what he thought was best but it was always,  _ always _ a failure. 

Sometimes he thinks he should just not be alive. But he left those days in the asylum with Lucifer and he doesn't open his mouth about them.

Sam wishes he was normal, by any meaning of the word. Wishes he wasn't the way he was. He rears back and slams his fist forward into a punching back and suddenly remembers where he is. He's training in a gym because Dean decided to run off and do a case on his own. Sam doesn't count the seconds, the hours that Dean is gone, not like he used to. There's no point really. Either Dean is dead and Sam will have to look for his body tomorrow, or Dean is fine and will be back in the middle of the night soaked in monster blood.

Sam realizes between bouts of punching the bag and getting lost in his own thoughts that he probably has depression. Well, not realizes, he's known for a while. But he realizes it might be kicking up at the moment. He sighs and drops his hands to his side. 

"Hey," a high, sultry voice asks and Sam glances over to see a woman right next to him. She is beautiful; curly black hair, tan skin, toned muscles, wearing a sports bra and shorts. But he doesn't have the energy for beautiful girls batting their eyelashes at him. 

"Yes?"

"You’re," she runs a hand up his bicep, its rough with callouses, "pretty fit to be in a place like this on a friday evening. Why not head back to my place? Bet I'll give you a better workout than-"

He cuts her off, "oh no thanks, I'm actually busy tonight and I'm just trying to pass time. I apologize," he mutters a line he's used a thousand times and the woman tilts her head disappointedly, says her goodbyes and saunters off. He doesn't let his eyes linger on the way her hips swing as she walks.

And that reminds him of another failure in his life, one amongst a mountain of millions. When he was soulless, it didn't care what was going on around him, he would've followed that woman home and fucked her for as long as he could stand it. Now? He has a conscience and wants to self pity.

He sighs again, and takes the wraps off his hands as he walks the block and a half distance back to the hotel.

He pushes open the door with sore arms and finds a sight he honestly wouldn't have expected. 

Monsters tearing the room apart? Demons lounging around? Angel's snooping through things? Rival hunters waiting to ambush him? All reasonable things.

Dean spread eagle on his bed masturbating? Not one of the reasonable things.

He has earbuds in, right fist curled tight around his dick, left fingers buried in his ass, teeth clamped on his bottom lip.

Sam blinks once, twice, three times before taking a long step outside and shuts the door. He is not in the mood to deal with Dean's pissy attitude after being interrupted (which he has put up with too many times) and figures he’ll come back in 30 minutes. Before he can turn on his heel and go to some diner to get food he doesn't have the appetite to eat, the woman from before steps out of a room down the hall. She's dressed in casual clothing now as opposed to her work out gear from earlier, and she quirks an eyebrow when she sees him.

Sam doesn't think his evening is gonna go anywhere so he turns to her, "that offer still up?" He asks in what he guesses is a deep voice, enticing her to say yes. 

She seems to think about it for a moment, and nods, "yep, come on in," so Sam does.

There's nothing left to say after that, so as soon as the door closes behind him he pulls her flush against his chest and is kissing her wildly. She returns the energy, scrambling to yank at his workout tank top, pressing herself against the bulge already forming in his jeans. 

He doesn't think about who her tan skin reminds him of as he tugs her shirt off. He doesn't think about who her green eyes remind him of as he pushes her down on the bed. He doesn't think about anything as he fucks her hard and deep, except that he does.

Sam knows that Dean doesn't think the way he does, in more ways than just his self-pity, depressive bullshit. Because for as long as Sam can remember, he's always looked at his brother as  _ more _ than just a brother.

Long hot nights in motels growing up where the boys had to share beds, Sam would wake up hard in his shorts and so,  _ so _ confused as to why. When he had his first kiss, he thought about cherry red lips that were shaped the same as his. When a girl first told him she loved him, he thought of grass-green eyes.

So yeah, Sam's a little more fucked up than just being a general fuck up at life.

When Sam finishes into the cheap condom she slipped on him at the beginning of their evening, he pulls out of the girl, her huffing trying to catch her breath, tiny whimpers still falling from her lips. He smooths her sweaty hair out of her face, lifts her up and carries her to the shower and cleans her up with a warm washcloth. She looks grateful as she sits there letting him, but doesn't say anything as he pulls back, puts on his clothes, and leaves. He's always done that, because it feels league's better than just leaving the girl panting on the bed but he can't stomach staying there for longer than he has to. And some small part of him wants to do it to Dean and not just after he's fought a monster and covered in blood and wounds. 

He was there for an hour and half and he can't remember what the girl looked like. 

When he makes it back to their hotel room, Dean is curled up passed out on his bed and Sam collapses onto his.

He knows how wrong it is to feel the things he feels for Dean. Dean, who is his blood, who is his goddamn older brother for fucks sake. Sam rubs a hand down his face, and sighs. 

This pattern continues for a long time. Sam trying not to let Dean know about his ever spiraling depression and feelings and drowning his loneliness in women when he can. Never men though, that's too close to Dean and he can't bring himself to make that step yet. 

He goes on a hunt alone, comes home covered in thick gashes along his waist and feeling like he's going to keel over from blood loss and exhaustion any moment. And he comes home to the Same image as months ago. Dean spread eagle, deep in fucking himself and moaning. Sam genuinely doesn't have the patience for this so he stomps in, slams the door hard, drops his duffle bag full of gear on his bed, and vehemently avoids looking Dean's way. Dean is scrambling to pull clothes on, face flushed and looking angry. 

Of course, Sam thinks bitterly and he grabs a first aid kit. Why would Dean worry about his little  _ Sammy _ bleeding all over the place when he can be mad that his jerk off session was interrupted so rudely.

Sam doesn't see Dean's anger fall off his face, worry and anxiety taking over, too busy grumbling in his own head and trying not to just give up and pass out. Until hands overlap his while he's trying to rip the little tin first aid kit open.

"Let me, Sammy," Dean's voice is soft and Sam can't bring himself to argue so he collapses onto the edge of the bathtub and let's Dean pull his ruined shirt off and start cleaning his wound. He forgets that Dean can be like this sometimes. Forgets that Dean can worry about him, want to help him.

He hisses when Dean pours hydrogen peroxide over the wound but it's better than alcohol so he doesn't flinch too badly. Dean cleans and dresses his wound with steady hands but his eyebrows are furrowed and he's chewing on his lips. Sam is just out of it enough to think about other reasons his face might look like that. 

Things are tense after this incident though. There's something hanging in the air unsaid and Sam wishes he knew what it was. It's left him anxious and nervous and off kilter. All because Dean is acting like he needs to say something but wont. 

Sam heals quickly, and is awarded with three gnarly scars just below his rib cage and all in all, it's not so bad.

Next time Dean takes a hunt alone, the woman Sam takes to bed (a sandy-blonde with blue eyes, this time) traces the thick silver lines with her tongue. Sam wishes it was Dean.

They continue like this for even longer. A thick and heavy uncertainty between them that nearly suffocates Sam when it all comes to a head. 

Sam thinks the date is important, it feels like it is, feels like another one of his failures years ago happened on this day. It puts him more on edge than normal, him trying desperately to remember what it is.

Dean clearly does.he's more violent than normal, slamming doors and kicking anything remotely in his way. He takes it out on a pack of werewolves that evening and Sam can barely focus to keep himself alive. He kills two, Dean kills five.

They're back in their shitty motel room, Dean guzzling beer by the gallons and Sam following his lead. 

"What-" he starts but let's his voice day at the sharp glare he recieves from his brother.  _ It's not worth it _ turns into a mantra in his head.

"You really don't fucking remember?" Dean snaps after an hour of the tense silence. Sam sighs miserably and shakes his head.he's trying, he really is, but nothing is coming to his head.

"God, you're fucking unbelievably Sammy," the way Dean spits  _ Sammy _ certainly jogs Sam's memory. He only says it like that on the anniversary of Sam's leaving a lifetime ago.

"Dean, how many times have I apologized for that? Explained myself?" Sam begs hopelessly, mentally steeling himself for a screaming match. It's always like this.

"Thats not the fucking problem! You not giving enough of a damn to remember is the problem!" Dean screams, capping it off with tipping his bottle of whiskey (Sam hadn't even noticed he had any) upside down and drinking it all.

_ That's helping _ Sam think's sarcastically. He knows that responding to Dean like this won't help. He can't keep himself from trying though. "It was a horrible night for me too, I didn't commit the exact day to memory because I hated it," he tries, repeating words he's said before, and tenses up in preparation for Dean's alcohol-smelling scream. 

Nothing comes though. He glances up to see Dean looking at him with an odd look in his eye, tears gathered at his waterline. 

Of all the times they've done this exact argument, Dean has never cried before. Not drunk, not sober, not angry, not sad, not anything. 

Sam mentally implodes trying to figure out what to do.

"Don't look at me like that," he tries, fumbling to set his bottle of beer down and instead spilling it all over the carpet. "Dean I-" he falters, looking for anything to say.

"I love you Sammy," Dean says, but it sounds so different than any other time he's ever said it. 

"You- what? I love you too Dean but-" he's fumbling and trying to do whatever he can, when soft lips press against his and he can't speak anymore. He doesn't comprehend what's happening for a long moment, frozen in shock.

"Shit," Dean says as he pulls back, horror in his face and tone, "shit Sammy I'm so sorry, I'm fucking drunk please just fuck-" Dean rambles backing away from Sam, whom finally processes what happened. 

A lot of things make sense to Sam now, as he bends forward and presses his lips to his brothers. All the times when they were younger when Dean would berate Sam's girlfriends, all the times Dean looked furious finding Sam in the middle of sex, all the times Dean freaked out over seeing Sam wounded. Sure, you can write those off as brotherly affection. But not at the intensity that it was for Dean.

Sam pushes Dean back, crawls onto the stiff carpeted floor on top of Dean, kissing him wildly. It's better than anything he could've imagined. Better than any woman Sam sought out to drown his loneliness in. 

"Dean," Sam starts as he pulls back but Dean doesn't let him, chases his lips. The pair lay there making out, trading kisses in between breaths for what feels like a long time, but Sam can't remember how long. Dean moans softly against Sam's mouth and he's suddenly aware of the hardness pressing against his thigh. 

_ Fuck it _ is Sam's first coherent thought as he rolls off of Dean and pulls the man up. He leads the pair to the bed and considers that this is maybe, no  _ definitely _ a bad idea. But he can't actually stop himself. Dean's little whimpers of "Sammy" as Sam runs his hands along toned, scarred skin make sure that Sam can't think coherently. Or maybe it's the copious amount of alcohol, Sam can't tell.

He pulls Dean out of his clothes and Dean does the Same for him and Sam has never felt this lightheaded in his life. Not even on the verge of death. 

"Fuck Dean, I love you," he mutters into the hollow of Dean's throat as he slides one finger into Dean's ass. Dean tenses up, so he waits for a moment while Dean relaxes.

He fucked Dean with that one finger for what could've been an hour, Dean squirming and shaking and begging but Sam wants this to last for as long as it can. He may never get to do this again and he wants to savor it.

He finally gives in and pulls his one finger out, reaching onto the bedside table to pull out the complimentary lube the motel stocks their rooms with, and pours more than strictly needed over Dean's asshole. He runs the slick gel along Dean's ass, dipping his fingertip teasingly into the mans hole but never going all the way.

"S-sa-ahh-Sammy please-" Dean begs, his words broken by whimpers as his hips push back against Sam's hand, looking for more. Sam can't bare to hear Dean beg like that, his voice whiny and broken with want, so he slides one finger all the way into Dean and follows it with a second right after. Dean tenses up at the intrusion again, but Sam moves his fingers in and out a few centimeters to get him to relax.

Sam is achingly hard against his stomach but he can barely acknowledge it, looking down at Dean beneath him. Dean's face is flushed bright red, his eyes squeezed shut, his teeth clamped hard over his red lips. Sam sees that Dean's nipples are hardened into little buds and as he starts to scissor his fingers in Dean, bends down to flick his tongue over the flushed bud. Dean moans loud at that, eyes widening and face alarmed. So he didnt know he liked that. Sam smiles, flicks his tongue over Dean's nipple again and again whilst fucking him with just two fingers for a while. Dean arches off the bed, burrowing his face into a pillow, and Sam chuckles. 

And then an idea comes to him. He bends down close to Dean's ear, drags his tongue along the shell of it, before whispering "you dirty little whore," with his voice rough. Dean reacts instantly, his body spazzing slightly, clenching down on Sam's fingers, a loud whine falling from his lips. 

_ So he likes verbal degrading. _

Sam figures Dean is loose enough and adds a third finger, not giving Dean time to acclimate before he's pulling them out and shoving them back in wildly. He kisses along Dean's jaw, "you're a perfect little cockslut," he whispers to Dean again, wrapping his free hand around Dean's untouched cock and rubbing his thumb along the head, which is soaked in precome, "so needy." 

Dean is loose enough around his fingers and Sam thinks that if he has to wait any longer he'll combust, so he pulls his fingers out. Dean involuntarily whines at the loss, but Sam shuffles back and bends down and drags his tongue over Dean's hole. The lube still slick there tastes stale and gross and feels oily on Sam's tongue, but it was worth it for the way Dean's whole body spasmed and his back arched high off the bed, a loud whine falling from his lips.

Sam smirks and sits up, "condom or no?" He asks the barely coherent Dean. Dean blinks his eyes open and looks at Sam, they're bright green and glassy with unshed tears. Sam smiles, makes a pitying "aw" sound as he rubs his dry thumb over Dean's cheek, leaning down and kissing the man deeply. "Answer me, slut," he barks out, and Dean swallows, body tensing with a tiny moan.

"N-no, is-is fi-ne," his words are broken by pants and hiccups of almost sobs, his voice thick with overuse already. Sam smirks, kissing Dean again, however chaste.

"Good boy," he praises, running his hand through Dean's hair to push it back, "I'm gonna fuck you real good okay? And you're gonna be a good little whore and take it, alright?" Sam asks, his voice full of false politeness and Dean gulps, nodding quickly. Sam clicks his tongue, "that won't do, I need to hear you say 'okay'," he asks.

Dean swallows again, his hips bucking up slightly, "o-kay s-Sam," Dean stutters. 

Sam smiles approvingly, and kisses the corner of Dean's eye where tears are gathered. He pours the lube into his palm and slicks his cock up, pumping slowly to tease Dean as the mans eyes are locked on it. 

Dean swallows nervously and glanced up at Sam, his thighs closing together involuntarily, "w-will," he glances away, his flush deepening, "will it f-fit?" He asks worriedly and Sam moans involuntarily. 

"Yes baby, it will," calling Dean "baby" wasn't something Sam ever expecting himself to do or even fantasized about, but he really liked it. And from the way Dean's flushed cock twitched, he did to. 

Sam pushes Dean's legs apart, allowing them to wrap around his waist, and lines himself up with Dean's entrance, barely pushing at the hole. He smirks at the way Dean already tenses up, clutching the sheet in his fist, and pushes in.he's worried for a moment that he didn't fully prepare Dean, he mans eyes clenching closed tighter and the squeeze around his dick not exactly pleasant. But Dean relaxes a fraction and Sam keeps pushing forward, inch by torturous inch. 

But the time he's all the way in, Dean is shaking and tears are falling from his eyes. Sam can't wipe them away, both his hands slick with either precome or lube, so he flicks his tongue along Dean's cheek to rid him of his tears. Dean let's out a broken sob and Sam's heart clenched painfully, terrified he's hurt Dean, but Dean's arms come up to wrap around him and he buries his face into Sam's shoulder. 

Sam smiles softly, muttering "good boy," before pulling out slowly and pushing back in. He wraps his arms around Dean's waist and spends what feels like a minute and eternity fucking him as slowly as he can, savoring every whine and moan and sob. 

Dean is relaxed at the pace, tears still flowing from his eyes but clutching onto Sam and moaning softly at each gentle thrust. Sam mentally apologizes to Dean, pulling out all the way, just as slowly as before, and slamming back in hard.

Dean screams, his nails digging into Sam's back and definitely drawing blood, but Sam can't focus on that, he drags himself out fast and slams back in, rewarded by a loud sob from Dean. He pushes Dean into the bed and slams into him roughly, fucking him at a brutal pace whilst Dean moans and screams louder than anyone Sam's ever heard before. He fucking loves it, groaning appraises like "good little whore," "fucking cockslut," "perfect fucking baby," "so tight," into Dean's ear. He sucks deep purple hickeys into Dean's throat and chest while Dean drags bloody lines down his back and arms with his nails. A trade of pain, he supposes, in their pleasure. Dean comes mostly untouched, it wreaks through his body and he screams "s-ammy!" as he does so, white ribbons streaking across his and Sam's chest. Sam smirks, fucks into him in sharp thrusts, as hard as he can because this is Dean, his older brother, he can't break Dean.

When Sam comes, he sees white, biting down hard onto Dean's throat and groaning loud as he fills Dean up.

Hes buried fully inside Dean, the two staying wrapped up together for a long time trying to breathe again before either can move. 

"S-Sammy?" Dean asks softly, his voice rough.

"Yeah?" Sam answers, his own voice no better than Dean's. 

"Thank you," Dean presses a weak kiss to Sam's temple and Sam smiles. He pulls his softened dick out of Dean, both wincing as he does, and stands carefully. His whole body aches, but particularly his legs. He hadn't really realized how hard he was going. Dean's body is limp on the bed save for the deep rise and fall of his chest with his breath, and looks beaten up.he's sweaty and flushed, his ass bruised red from being slammed by Sam's hips, hand shaped bruises on his waist and Sam can't even remember when he held Dean down like that, dark and angry looking hickeys all over his throat and chest, cum leaking out of him. Sam stretched his body and lifts Dean up in his arms, faltering a little as his own body is exhausted, and carried Dean to the bathroom. He sets him on the edge of the tub as easily as he can but Dean still winces in pain harshly, but smirks at Sam nonetheless. Sam draws them some steaming hot water, and checks Dean over for any serious wounds, before catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Specifically, his back.

Rivulets of dried blood trail down it, and deep scratches are torn down his arms and nearly his whole back. The two stare at it astonished before both glancing at Dean's hands. Blood is caked under his fingernails and he instantly looks apologetic. 

"Hey, now, I liked it, yeah?" Sam already starts reassuring him, "I hurt you too okay? It's fine," Dean huffs a breath but nods. Sam turns off the water and helps Dean into it, dreading getting in it himself. He can't feel the scratches on him but the second he gets into the water he knows he will. 

Dean sits in the middle and Sam clambers into it behind him, the water splashing over the edge and he settles behind Dean, flinching hard and a deep stinging ache sets in as the scratches are disturbed.he's greatful to the motel for having such a big bath though as he rests with Dean against his chest.

"We have to properly shower after this, don't fall asleep," he tells Dean but the man is out before he can finish.

Maybe Sam was wrong about a lot of things. He knows he was, and maybe wishes he hadnt wallowed so much. He kisses the crown of Dean's head and erases any thought that isnt Dean right now from his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. please dont comment hate. just fuck off.  
> 2\. this wasnt even supposed to be smut, it was supposed to be dean/castiel with sam pining and angsty  
> 3\. i am, as the title suggests, a white teenager (not quite a girl but) and i use tumblr a bit too much so forgive the uh...everything about this  
> 4\. now if youll excuse me im gonna bury myself into animal crossing new horizons and not do another thing but play that


End file.
